The night settled over Fort Panhala, thick with the smell of smoke and blood. The fires from the siege tower had finally died down, leaving only smoldering wreckage in the distance. Vidur Pant stood on the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon where the Mughal forces had retreated hours earlier. The fort had held, but the victory felt fragile, like it could be undone at any moment.
"Vidur,"
Narayanrao's voice was low as he approached, his face tired but relieved. "The men are clearing the courtyard. We've driven them back, for now."
Vidur nodded but didn't turn. His eyes stayed fixed on the distant hills. "It won't be long before they return. Aurangzeb isn't finished with us."
Narayanrao sighed, stepping closer. "I know. But tonight, we've survived. That counts for something."
Vidur finally looked at him, his face still hard. "We need to use this time wisely. Repair the gates. Reinforce the walls. The next attack will be worse."
Narayanrao glanced at the courtyard below, where the soldiers were dragging away the bodies of the fallen and repairing what they could. "You're right. But the men… they need rest. They've been fighting nonstop for days."
Vidur's gaze softened slightly, and he sighed. "You're right. Give them tonight. But by morning, we need to be ready."
Later that night, the fort was eerily quiet. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the courtyard. Vidur sat alone by the walls, his back against the cold stone. His sword rested beside him, but for once, his hands weren't gripping it in tension.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night air wash over him. We survived. But just barely. His mind kept replaying the battle—the chaos, the close calls, the sense that at any moment, the fort could fall.
"Vidur," a voice called softly.
Vidur opened his eyes to see Santaji Ghorpade standing a few feet away. His armor was dented and covered in soot, but he had the same quiet determination in his eyes that he always carried.
"You should be resting," Santaji said, stepping closer.
Vidur gave a small, tired smile. "I could say the same to you."
Santaji chuckled, though there was no humor in it. He sat down beside Vidur, glancing out at the dark horizon. "That was close."
"Too close," Vidur muttered. "If the reinforcements had come any later…"
Santaji nodded. "But they didn't. We held."
Vidur was silent for a moment, his mind racing. How long until we face something worse?
As dawn approached, Vidur found himself once again in the war room, a map of the fort spread out before him. Narayanrao and Santaji stood across the table, their faces marked with exhaustion but their eyes sharp.
"We have to repair the gates immediately," Vidur began, his voice steady. "That's our weakest point. If they attack again with a full force and we haven't repaired the damage…"
Narayanrao nodded. "We'll reinforce the gates. But the men need to rest, Vidur. We can't push them too hard, or they'll collapse before the next battle even starts."
Vidur sighed. "Give them the morning. But we need to start repairs by midday. The Mughals won't wait long."
Santaji leaned over the map, tracing the areas where the walls had taken the heaviest damage. "We'll need to focus here as well. The western side of the fort took a beating during the last attack."
"I've already sent men to reinforce the weak points," Vidur said, his voice tight. "But we're running out of supplies. We need more wood, more stone, more men."
Narayanrao's brow furrowed. "We've sent word to Raigad, but we don't know when—or if—more help is coming."
Vidur's jaw clenched. We can't wait for help that might never arrive.
"Then we'll have to make do with what we have," Vidur said firmly. "No matter what."
By midday, the fort was buzzing with activity again. The soldiers, though weary, were working to repair the damage left by the siege. Vidur moved through the fort, checking on the repairs, speaking with the men, offering words of encouragement where he could.
He found Narayanrao near the gates, overseeing the work there. The heavy wooden doors had been reinforced with iron and stone, but Vidur could see the wear and tear from the previous battle.
"How's it looking?" Vidur asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Narayanrao wiped sweat from his brow. "We're doing what we can, but we're low on materials. If the Mughals bring another battering ram…"
Vidur's eyes darkened. "Then we hold them off before it reaches the gate. We don't have a choice."
Narayanrao looked at him, his eyes filled with determination. "We'll be ready."
Vidur nodded, but his mind was already racing. Will it be enough?
As the afternoon wore on, Vidur found himself once again at the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon. The landscape was eerily quiet, the distant hills still shrouded in mist. But something felt off.
"Vidur," a voice called from below.
He turned to see one of the scouts approaching, his face pale. "There's movement," the scout said breathlessly. "From the north."
Vidur's heart sank. They're coming.
Narayanrao joined him on the ramparts, his face tense. "Already?"
Vidur nodded. "They're regrouping faster than we thought."
The scout continued, his voice trembling. "It's not just soldiers. They've brought more siege weapons. Bigger ones."
Vidur's stomach tightened. More siege weapons. This time, they're going for total destruction.
"We don't have time," Vidur muttered, his mind racing. "Get the men ready. We're facing another attack."
Narayanrao's face was grim as he turned to relay the orders. "We'll be ready, Vidur."
Vidur nodded, though the weight of the moment pressed heavily on him. We have no other choice.
By late afternoon, the Mughal army had appeared on the horizon again. Vidur watched from the ramparts as the soldiers formed ranks, their numbers even greater than before. The sight of their siege weapons—massive catapults and trebuchets—made Vidur's blood run cold.
"They're not holding back this time," Narayanrao muttered, standing beside him.
Vidur's face was hard. "They've brought everything."
The Maratha soldiers stood ready along the walls, their faces filled with a mix of fear and determination. The air was thick with tension as they watched the Mughal forces prepare for another assault.
"Archers at the ready!" Vidur shouted, his voice carrying over the fort.
The archers raised their bows, their eyes fixed on the approaching enemy.
"This is it," Narayanrao said quietly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Vidur nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. "We hold the fort. No matter what."